


Out of sight but not out of mind

by roseonabeach



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sad, Sherlock does not come home, Suicide, Texting, slightly based off of I Almost Do by Taylor Swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseonabeach/pseuds/roseonabeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Reichenbach. Sherlock does not come home, and it takes a severe toll on John. Sherlock shows his true emotions that he's kept bottled up for so many years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The summary was really bad. Sorry. But if you have taken the time to read this even though the summary sucked, thanks. That's it.

Sherlock stood on the sidewalk outside 221B Baker Street, watching John go about his life. It was nearly midnight, and he was surprised that John was still up. Before Sherlock jumped, John had always tried to go to sleep around 10 so he would have enough energy to stay awake throughout the work day, but there he was, sitting in Sherlock’s old chair by the window reading his book. He looked exhausted; his week had been long and hard after Sherlock fell.  
Sherlock stared longingly at his old flat mate. He knew John wasn't really reading; he hadn't turned a page sense he had sat down, and it only made sense that he was thinking about Sherlock from the way his eyes would dart from the violin to the window.  
He wanted more than anything to run up the stairs and tell John that he was okay, that he had faked his death, that he was coming home, but he knew he couldn't yet, not until John was safe.  
Hours later, John finally gave up on reading and went to bed. Silently, Sherlock stood up and flagged a cab. When he was in his temporary flat with no one around, he made himself a cup of John’s favorite tea, curled up on the couch, and silently cried him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been months sense Sherlock had taken the fall, and he was 100 percent focused on taking down Moriarty's web. Or at least that's what he was telling those who knew he was alive. He was spending a lot of his time taking down Moriarty's web, but not all of it. Almost every night when he was done for the day, instead of going home he would find himself standing in the same spot outside 221B, watching John go on without him.  
Some nights, John would curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and watch bad telly. Some nights he'd invite Lestrade over and they'd have some drinks. Some nights John would work on finishing his book. But it's the nights where John just sits by the window holding Sherlock's violin staring out into the world pleadingly that break Sherlock's heart the most. Come home, John's eyes seem to plead. You can't be dead, just come home.  
It's days like this when Sherlock loses it, when he goes flying up the stairs to comfort his friend only to be caught by Molly who had taken to spending nights at Mrs. Hudson's house, knowing what Sherlock will do. She holds him back and whispers soothing words into his ear while calling for backup to drag Sherlock home.  
By the time Mycroft gets there, Sherlock is always reduced to a pitiful heap on the floor. He lets himself be picked up and set in a cab next to Molly, lets her carry him to her house, lets her hold him as he cries and cries and cries. Never before had he been this weak, and he knows and hates himself for it. Its days like this when he cries himself to sleep, waking up in the morning only to throw himself completely into his work without thoughts of John, able to come straight home after working all day. It's days like this when Sherlock is able to convince everyone, himself included, for a moment, just a short, blissful moment, that maybe he doesn't care after all.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been months sense Sherlock last visited John, and he loves pretending he doesn't care. He tells himself that he doesn't need John, that John doesn't need him, that the only reason he doesn't go home is that it makes him too easy to trace. Truthfully, he only stopped visiting because the pain got too great, because he couldn't bear to see John like that, and every time he tells himself he doesn't care, he feels a dagger stab his heart.  
Every night, he would take a sleeping pill to save himself the pain. Every night he would still end up thinking about John.  
One night, Sherlock is lying in bed trying so hard not to cry when his phone buzzes. Knowing it will be Mycroft with a lead; he quickly stands up and changes into his usual silk shirt. Grabbing his phone, he glances at the screen and freezes. Instead of seeing Mycroft's number he sees one that he tried desperately to forget, one that he thought he wouldn't see again for a long, long time. John's. Sinking down on his bed, he opens the message and immediately regrets doing so.  
 **My therapist wants me to write you a bloody letter. Says it'll help the pain.**  
Sherlock silently types 'this number is no longer in use'. He never thought this was going to happen, that John was going to text him after so many months of him being 'dead'...  
Sherlock jumped as his phone buzzes again, abruptly pulling him out of his head. It was John.  
 **I figured texting you was close enough, ya?**  
A tear hit the screen of his phone as he re-sent his earlier message. John was going to keep texting him and there was nothing Sherlock could do. He was dead.  
 **I know you had to have some reason for jumping. I know you weren't actually a fake. And I know there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. So, just, don't be dead, okay? I don't think I can live if you are dead.**  
Sherlock sent him the message one last time before completely breaking down. When his phone buzzed again, he almost didn't answer, but knowing that it had to be done, Sherlock braced himself for the worst and opened the message.  
 **Found a lead. -MH**  
Sherlock let out a sigh of relief as he threw on his coat.  
 **On my way. -SH**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok first, I'm sorry it took me so long to update. My life got super busy all of a sudden and I didn't have a chance. Second, thank you for actually taking the time to read this story and this note it actually means a lot to me. So, I'm looking for some betas, and I welcome anyone who's interested. If you are interested, just mention it in a comment below and I will reply to your comment the next chance I get! The more betas, the happier I am! So... Ya... Here's the last chapter! Enjoy!

It had been a year since Sherlock had faked his death, and the detective was almost done taking down Moriarty's web. He was taking down spies as fast as he could, eager to get home to John. _John ___Sherlock could hardly believe it had been only two months since John had started texting him; he had gotten so much stronger since then. The thoughts of his old flatmate that used to send knives into his heart barely faze him now, and he's glad.  
 **Found him -MH ******  
Sherlock shot out of his flat, eager to Finnish off the last of the web. He hurried down the busy London street, not bothering to stop and wave a cab. Passing St. Bart's, old memories flowed through him and he paused, taking a moment to look up. He gasped.  
There, on the roof exactly where Sherlock had taken his fall a year earlier, was John, struggling against Molly and Lestraud.   
"Let me go! _Let me go! ___He's _gone ___!" Sherlock could hear John sobbing.  
" John," he whispered, quiet enough that not even he could hear it.  
"Just because Sherlock is ton doesn't mean you have to go, too!" Molly tried to reason with him.  
"John," Sherlock whispered again _I'm sorry, ___he thought to himself. _I did this to you and I am so, so sorry. ___he could feel the tears start to fall down his cheeks as John wrenched one arm away from Molly, straining forwards the edge of the building. _No, John, no! ___Sherlock tried to scream, tried to tell John that he was there, but he was completely frozen.  
John finally freed himself from Lestraud and climbed up to exactly the spot Sherlock stood a year ago.   
"Please don't do this," begged Molly, tears choking up her voice.   
"You don't understand," insisted John, voice thick with emotions. " I _loved ___him. And he left me. So now I must go join him."  
 _I'm right here! ___Sherlock tried to scream. _Just come down! ___But he was still frozen, unable to do anything but watch.  
John stood and spread his arms exactly as Sherlock had done, any trace of fear gone from his face. "I'm coming, my love," he whispered to himself.  
Faintly, Sherlock heard Molly cry out, heard Lestraud try and talk him down, but all he could see was John as he calmly stepped off the edge of St. Bart's. All he could see was John falling, falling , falling, falling. It seemed as if the rest of the world had just disappeared; no sound, no colour, no people. Just him and John.   
In a daze, Sherlock walked over to where John lay with a crooked smile on his face and peace in those beautiful eyes that had life ripped from them. Slowly, he reached down to check for a pulse, only to find that there wasn't one. _Gone ___, he thought. _He's gone forever. ___Still in a daze, he felt the paramedics push him out of the way as they tried to revive John. _I did his and now he's gone forever. ___  
Forgetting about Moriarty's wan and Mycroft, Sherlock stumbled to 221B, and, after standing outside he door for a minuet, stumbled up the stairs. _Gone. Dead. Never coming back. ___His mind flashed back to what John had said right before...  
 _"You don't understand! I ___loved _him!" ___  
Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He completely broke down, collapsing in the middle of the floor, sobbing. _He loved me, and now he's gone. He can never come back. ___Sherlock sobbed harder. _I can never tell him 'I love you, too' ___  
At some point, Molly came in and held him while he cried, whispering comforting words into his ear, and for the first time in a long time, he cried himself to sleep with thoughts of John.


End file.
